I decided to write something for Patrick. Prose maybe or a poem. It seems really tacky to me considering that I just got emailed by an ex who sent me back the poem I gave him nine years ago, but, on the other hand I haven’t written a poem for someone in those nine years and to my knowledge (and I could be wrong, as I have been before), that was my one and only poem written for a boyfriend.
I keep going back to my 23rd? 24th? birthday when Patrick gave me notebooks to write in. It’s funny, because he is probably one of the only people in my life who has ever really encouraged my writing. It’s not that others have said “Well you suck ass Lisa, bite me.” more like, there is no encouragement at all. Which, to me is just as bad as discouragement. Should I say, he’s been more of a constant encouragement. I told him the outline of the book I’m working on and he laughed because he thought it was about him even it was started before that infamous kiss of November 28, 2003.
I don’t do well with fiction or poetry or prose. I mean, the earlier works are testament to that. Some of it is just pure crap and even I am embarrassed to read it.
So this is really important to me.
I just wish I could explain how much.